Welcome To Hell!
by DaGeekGoddesses
Summary: Seven roomates in the lovely suburban town of Beauville combine forces with the kids next door - what could possibly go wrong? Based on the world of the music vid of Gives You Hell by AAR.
1. Chapter 1: Wakin' Up In The Evenings

**A/N: Hello, strange and unusual childrens! Sunshine here, with another story for the bandoms. But this... So, after watching the COMPLETELY AMAZING AND WITTY music video for the All-American Reject's 'Gives You Hell', I started developing this idea: What if this chaos is applied to the WHOLE DAMN TOWN? So, the plot, then the characters, then everything else, started blooming. And now, I give you: Welcome... To Hell! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own AAR, only digital copies of a few of their singles. If I owned them... (enter smartass comment)**

**Read and Review when you're done - I wrote it and put it up just for you!**

**~Sunshine**

Beep. Beep. Seven PM.

I pry my eyes open, slam my hand against the snooze button on the no good, piece-of-shit alarm clock that sits on my nightstand, before shoving my face back into the cradling pillows with my face imprinted in them.

After a few more second of peace, the large, calloused hands of the guy in the room across the hall from me place themselves on either side of my waist and pull me into a sitting position. "Rain, get the Hell up. It's seven."

"Ten more minutes..." I mutter.

"No." He shifts me into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, and stands back to look at me. He has slightly curly dark hair that hangs flat around his forehead, and curves out around the base of his skull and around his ears. His chaotic, green eyes bore right through me with a face that almost seems maternal. His muscly arms are crossed over his bare, tattooed chest, and dog tags jingle around his neck. All he wears are fading black jeans, and I honestly hope he's wearing underwear. You never know with this guy.

"Aaron, why disturb a lady from her beauty sleep?" I moan.

"Now, who is this lady that you are referring to?" I glare. "Just get out of bed, Love." He exits the room.

"Stop calling me Love."

"You adore it... Love." I hear the smile in his voice.

I grumble, get up, and close the door, before sorting through the closet that I share with another two of my roomies: Diana, and Helen. Horny's her nickname. Horny Helen. And that came from only dating one man -

Well, one man outside our little group of rebels in Beauville, America. Your stereotypical little suburban town.

I dive into my area of it, pull out denim cutoff minis, and one of my more low cut black shirts. I think of going bra-less, before deciding against it, and instead, pull out a lacy, lime green one. I slide into the clothes, chucking the overlarge T-shirt that is my pajamas back on my bed. I stand in front of the mirror, and situate the shirt so a little bit of the lace sticks out, a distraction. Satisfied, I slip into the bathroom that the three of us share as well. Leaning against the sink, I grasp black eyeliner off the shelf, and line the perimeters of my eyes, before going over that in green glitter liner. After that, heavy on the black mascara. To finish the look, I apply cover up to the ghastly pimple on my forehead, and slide crimson across my lips. Putting that away, I tousle my blue-tipped chestnut hair a little, before deciding that I look good.

So I slide down the railing to the kitchen.

"Evening, bitches," I call.

Aaron, Helen, and two more of our roommates, Quinn and Matt, look up from the breakfast table and at me. I could laugh. Aaron is still in all his shirtless glory. Helen is in a fuchsia sports bra and black running shorts, her short, magenta hair sticking up a little in the back. Quinn wears a t-shirt with a troll face on it, cargo shorts, and a beanie, the end of it hanging halfway to his ass, sliding off his light red head. Matt is swirling a spoon through cereal, his shoulder-length, dyed black, hair circling around his face. He wears black skinnies and an equally dark band t-shirt over a leather jacket. The emo of us seven.

"The fuck, Rain?" Matt mutters through his hair, "You're not our pimp."

"I'd disagree."

He glares; I smile.

As Diana walks out of the bathroom in all her platinum blonde glory, the last of us, Isaac, walks in from the garage. His silver nose and ear piercings glisten. Looks like he's redone his Mohawk's colors. Today, its purple. Towards the ends, the color becomes a bubblegum pink. I kind of like it.

"Coffee?" Diana asks.

Helen grumbles, rolls her eyes, and peels herself from the table. "I'll do it."

As Helen is making coffee, I sit myself on the counter and kick my legs like a little kid. "So, what shenanigans have we planned today?"

Isaac clears his throat, and holds a finger up in the air, as if he's a genius or something. "That is what I was getting to. We've already T. the Muller's house. I'm not gonna throw rocks at the Hodgkin's because they have little kids. I'm not gonna go make a bad name for ourselves there. So, obviously, our next regular target is the Rowan's place. That's what was going on while I was in the garage - while the sun was out." He gets a few well-deserved grumbles. "I was making stencils."

"So, we're graffitying their place?"

"Not just that." He smiles, and takes Helen's spot on the table. She grumbles, flipping him off. "See, the Rowan's, first off, are next door. Giving us better escape, which is perfect for graffiti. But that's not all. They have kids. Fifteen and thirteen. Young enough to still be manipulated into thinking that a Suburban life in Beauville is right for them, but old enough to start thinking independently."

"...And?" Someone calls, none of us are sure who.

Isaac sighs, almost emotionally. "Guys, I don't want to see more kids fall into that trap. Thinking that the narrow-minded life of this stupid, fucked-up town is right. You can dye your hair weird colors. You can wear what you want. You don't have to fall in love with people of the opposite sex, always look your best, and live a picket-fence-and-shiny-car life. And above all, you don't always have to keep a plastic smile."

"Nice little speech," I comment, "But are you honestly, truly suggesting that we recruit these kids with graffiti?"

"That's where I was getting." Isaac stands, and Helen squeals as she runs back into the seat. "I made one stencil. Letters. We're doing it on their windows. It will wash quicker, but it's basically a fine print of what we stand for. Rebellion. Freedom. We are the Beauville Underground!"

I nod. "Yeah. Sure, man."

He gives me a dirty look. "Rain, are you in on this at all?"

I grin. "Of course."

He shares the smile, and looks at everyone else. "Well."

Quinn nods. Matt pushes his bowl away, stands, and, under the locks of his dark, dark hair, grins madly.

As for the others...

Aaron leans his chair back. "No. I led T. the Muller's on Tuesday."

Helen hastens to get up. "Fuck this, I'm going back to sleep."

Diana checks the clock. "Ooh, I'm meeting Mukta in forty-five. Can't."

I smirk. "Where are you meeting her?"

Diana blushes a little. "At the Broken Window. Cloud Ten is performing."

I groan. "Cloud Ten? I hate you. Tape it for me." Cloud Ten is probably the biggest band in the Beauville Underground. They've been around since the Rebellion started. Basically, take an obscure punk band, make them Grammy-worthy, and stick them in Suburbia. You get Cloud Ten. And Mukta... is Diana's girlfriend.

Diana, obviously at this point, is lesbian. But she's been my best friend since we were in Junior High here, so we're practically sisters, and she's never tried to get with Helen, so it's perfect. And, to be honest, I'm kind of jealous. Mukta is such a character. First off, her name means 'Liberation' in either Indian, or Sanskrit. Next, after graduating from High School as valedictorian, immediately turned around and joined our movement, but not before coming out to severely homophobic parents. Third, she's the sweetest person, and, in the time that Di has dated Mukta, has become one of my best friends. Fourth off, she's gorgeous. With sleek, black hair to her hips, an hourglass figure, high cheekbones, and big, dark eyes, she gives Swedish models a run for their money.

Sometimes, I wonder why I bother being straight - a lot of men are kind of ugly.

I clap my hands together. "So, when do we go?"

Isaac looks at the clock. "Let's see... They go to bed at nine thirty, so we leave at ten. We have about two and a half hours. What do we do?"

I look between Aaron, Isaac, and Matt. "Band practice?"

Aaron looks between us as well. "Sure, despite me not going with your vandalism."

Forgetting about Helen's coffee, we all slide out of the kitchen, and into the garage.

If you were too stupid to guess, Aaron, Isaac, Matt, and I have a little band of our own.

Meet my band: Welcome... To Hell. Our inspiration is Cloud Ten. Our influence is Cloud Ten. Our biggest dream is to one day open... For Cloud Ten. I must admit: all of us are obsessed. Very.

I think this a little too clearly as I grab Chaos, my bass, and sling her over my shoulder, before adjusting the mic closest to the opened garage door to my height. Satisfied, I walk to my amp, turn it on, and adjust it. I let out a few baritone notes, tune the instrument a little, and try again. Good. I stand back at the mic, while the guys get ready. I start admiring Chaos's surface. Half of her is a medium aqua-blue, with a gold stripe zigzagging through. The other half, clashing, is the blue-gray of a stormcloud, with green buttons glued to that side, as well as glitter sprayed across her whole surface.

Her coloring matches my eyes. And, yes, I have heterochromia.

My left eye is the blue one. There's a golden-yellow ring that laces through it, like a reef in an ocean. The other, the right, is the gray-green one. It took a while for everyone to get used to my condition, but, oh, well. At least it doesn't startle people that much anymore.

Matt has officially finished straightening his drums, and Aaron and Isaac's guitars are ready to go.

And, just as we're starting-

"Wait, you guys!"

Diana has emerged from the front door, and comes into the garage, holding her phone, Mukta now in tow. Strange. I never saw her car pull up. But oh well.

"You guys, we just found out that we get to be let in the backstage to meet Cloud Ten after the concert, so I want to show them you guys performing. 'Cause, you know how you guys want to perform with them...?"

"Yeah," I sigh.

"You guys should play 'Fade'."

I turn to Aaron. "You fine with 'Fade'?"

"Sure."

I inhale, edge my mouth closer to the microphone, let my fingers slide to their respective parts of my bass, let my fingers feel the tension against the thick strings, and nodded to Diana. She clicked into the camera, held it up, and at the last second, turns to Mukta. "Darling, introduce them."

"Um..." Mukta's eyes flit nervously, before she looks back at the camera with a grin. "Hey, I'm Mukta, and I'm here to introduce the phenomenal band, Welcome... To Hell. And yes, there is a 'dot-dot-dot' between 'Welcome' and 'To Hell.' Before you watch them perform, I'll tell you who everyone is. The emo guy with the fringe and shitloads of eyeliner is Matt, and he plays drums. Guy with the Mohawk is Isaac, and he plays guitar. So does the greasy, tattooed shirtless guy. People supposedly call him Aaron. And the weird bassist-singer chick is Rain. So, now that you know everyone, here's Welcome... To Hell with their song, Fade!"

As Di turns the camera my way, I lean my head over my bass, so to watch my fingers strum out the initial, deep notes. Suddenly, crashing cymbals and ranting guitars explode behind me, and I feel like I have been lifted to stardom.

I press my lips close to the microphone, before I start belting out the lyrics with all that there's left in me.

"If it's my body, bring me the bones, 'Cause Everyone's heart was replaced with stones, There's no sympathy for the Lost, and my painless death came with a cost."

Aaron starts frantically taking a quick, four-measure solo before the verse restarts.

"What is love without a sacrifice? What is fate without a pair of dice? If I faded, dear, did you ever love me? Or were you always blinded to what I see?" I inhale frantically, as if I couldn't get enough air. "So admit that you're wrong..." I push the last note out of my lungs, before Matt's and Isaac's instruments die out, and it's just Aaron and I playing. I turn to him, and he winks.

When the rhythm pushes its way back in, the chorus comes flying from my mouth.

"So don't ever worry bout's how I fade, I'm dying, babe, don't try to be my aid, It's how I'll disappear, how I'll die, And in my coffin is where I'll hide!" I hit the last high note, feel my lungs nearly collapse, and concentrate on my bass. Somewhere in front of me, Mukta whoops.

"If it's my funeral, shed me a tear, 'Cause you clung to me for how many years, If it's me buried, tell them you died, too, 'Cause I'll have sympathy for you!" An inhale. "So admit... So admit... So admit that you're wrong!"

Aaron jumps in front of me, and starts shredding the notes off his guitar like he'd die if he didn't. As I hit the notes on Chaos, I can't help but not watch him. It's a little mesmerizing, watching him bent over his guitar, dark hair flying and swinging to the beat, body rocking back and forth with the same rhythm, the lights of the garage shimmering on the tattoo on his back of an angel. The angel has her wings spread, but her face is covered by her inky locks. I love her; I feel like she has a story.

At the end of the solo, everything stops. The last notes played ring out, and I walk to the mic again.

"So don't ever worry 'bout how I fade..."

Bass.

"I'm dying, babe, don't try to be my aid..."

Guitar.

"It's how I'll disappear, how I'll die..."

Drums.

"And in my coffin is where I'll hide..."

A few near-silent picks on Aaron's guitar, and...

BAM!

We explode into the chorus again. My throat starts to ache from the stress, my fingers start to hold back tears from the tension of Chaos's strings, but I can't stop now. I feel the withering, pushy energy of my bandmates behind me, and I'm with them, just pushing it out... Out... Out!

Aaron ends with the terminating chord played on his knees, and we're all panting - no, hyperventilating - but it feels so good.

Diana turns her camera off, and Mukta claps. "Kickass, you guys!"

I grin, lean against the mic stand a little, and slide Chaos off me, holding her by the neck until I have enough energy to go put her away.

"Okay, you guys," Di calls, "We gotta go now! Who knows? You might be gigging with Cloud Ten soon!"

Despite the surrealism of the thought, I can't help but smile.

As I turn to close the garage door, being that no one wants to play anymore, I see a light switch on in the window of the second story of the Rowan's house. I realize that the window was opened, the curtains ruffling from a breeze, and a girl sticks her head out.

She has dark hair, cropped to her shoulders, and a curious stare at me. Not with the disdain of other, older neighbors, that we're devil spawn, but with interest. Like I'm actually something fresh, different, and cool. The suave new kid. It's funny.

I halfheartedly wave.

It takes her a second before she reciprocates.

As soon as I reenter the kitchen, I grab a glass of water and down it within two gulps.

"God," Aaron mutters, "Do you really drink that much water?"

"Yeah," I pant. "Y'know, we should really start gigging soon."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Anyways," I ask, "Still not participating in the graffitying of the Rowan house?"

"I told you, I already led the Muller's vandalization. Besides, graffiti is one thing that I just don't want to do. Did I ever tell you what I was doing instead of getting a high school educa-"

"But your murals are phenomenal! Honestly, if you finished high school online, then you should enroll at my college-"

"Forget it, Rain. You're the only person brave enough to go there. I think you know the reason for why we disrespect the biological clock."

I swallow. "I realize this, but-"

"Rain, we can't go out because we can't show our faces! I realize the nobility of our cause, but we're scum, dear. We're the lowliest of the low in this town."

I gasped. "Aaron... How could you-"

"Face it. When we're forty, fifty, sixty, are we still gonna be living like this? Eventually, we have to conform. Why... Why not now?"

"Aaron, what the hell are you saying?"

He starts saying something, but closes his mouth when Isaac and Matt enter the room. He nods to them, waiting for them to go back to their respective places in the house before we go graffitying. He looks back at me. "I'm saying, Rain, that I'm no longer sure that I should keep on living like this. That any of us should. I think we need to start with cutting trolling around the neighborhood, for once."

I stare down into my near empty glass for a few seconds, swirling the few drops at the bottom around for a few seconds, before looking back up.

"No. Aaron, if you don't believe in our cause, why are you one of us? Why not just move to the city, start anew there? Or, better yet! Put all your savings into a house and tattoo removal, marry, and live in your perfect house with your wife, two kids, and dog?"

Before he says anything, I storm out.

I can't stand seeing his face right now.


	2. Chapter 2: A Nine to Five Pace

**A/N: Wattup, PPLZ? Back in da haus with this next littah chaptah.**

**I'm sorry I'm acting weird. I ate sushi today, and avocado rolls make me really super happy.**

**I'd like to take this time to once again shamelessly advertise. First, read Don't Wanna Dance by Moonray, the other half of DaGeekGoddesses. I don't care if you like the Muppets or not, it's totally fucking hilarious and you should read it. Second, read my other story, The Technicolor Rebellion. It's a Killjoy story for all you MCR fans, with characters from other bands mixed in and a few equally colorful OC's. It has some creative liberties, as well as it being really dramatic and strangely written, but please read and review it. Finally, as I said when I posted my last chapter of T. Rebellion (that should be my rapper name), I have a Harry Potter story on the way! So keep yourselves on your toes for that.**

**So, you know the drill. Read, Review, and if you like this enough, tell other people to read it, or advertise it on your own stories. Please? Reviews are what's gonna keep this (and all my other stories, wink wink nudge nudge) going, so review.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own AAR, their music videos, or anything them. If I did, they would get overworked because I would be forcing them to make more music.**

**Love you all!**

**~Sunshine**

Before I know it, it's nine thirty, and Isaac is handing me a few stencils and a can of black spray paint.

"Rain, I want you to get the second floor. Climb onto the roof, and you can get it from there. I want you to do the angel stencil on the front, and remember, it's four pieces, so don't mess up. I also want you to get the kid's rooms."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, I'll go."

As I exit the garage, I see him handing Matt a can of red, and Quinn a can of green, before he grabs blue.

Looking up at the Rowan's house, I feel a little fear lodged in my chest. Erasing it, I slip the stencils and spray paint down my shirt, make sure that they won't slip, and start with putting both feet on the ledge of the house, before spotting a drain pipe and a trellis. I slide myself against the walls, grip the drain pipe, and wrap myself around it, before sliding further, to the trellis. My fingers latch into the holes, but my feet don't fit with the sandals I wear. I climb back onto the ledge, and, using one hand to hold myself to the trellis, I remove my shoes, and fling both in the general direction of our house. They land in the middle of the Rowan's yard.

Great.

I hook myself back onto the trellis, sticking a few toes off each foot into holes, and I start climbing.

When I roll myself onto the ceiling, I'm panting so heavily. My arms are shaking from the effort.

I look back down, and realize that if I slide myself off the roof, there're ledges larger than the one on the lower level that I can sit on if I can get down there. I edge my legs off the roof, and let them feel around until they find a surface, before I let myself fully off. I peer into the window - a boy barely in his teens in a room of pale, sky blue.

Sighing, I pull out the can of paint and one of the stencils from my shirt, hold it up, and spray. The noise from the pressure pierces the serenity of the night, but the boy remains asleep. I slip both back under my shirt, look left, and then right. Seeing that there's a ceiling-ed walkway that I can stand on just a few feet away, I hook my arms around the drain pipe, edge my left foot to the end of the platform, and stretch my other foot until it grazes the walkway, before walking my hands right, and pushing myself with all the force I have onto the platform. I land on my hands and knees, but it's a success.

I take the angel stencils out, arrange them in front of me so I can see how they line up, and start with the top-left one.

When I back away, I gasp. I realize it's the angel on Aaron's back; Isaac must have stolen the design. She looks down peacefully at the house, her dark hair swishing in her face. I love her, and how she looks.

I shake the memory of Aaron and I fighting, and climb back on the roof, remembering where the girl's room was.

I slide across the roof, trying to let myself not be heard at all, not disturb anyone. I slide onto my belly when I reach the end, look over for a ledge, find it, and slide myself on it. When I regain my balance, I ready the stencil and paint can. As I hold the stencil against the window-

The window opens, and the dark haired girl scowls at me. "What the hell are you doing?"

My mouth hangs open. I'm staring at her as she folds her arms and once again, opens her mouth. "You're the chick next door. The singer. You waved to me."

I nod, losing my balance a little. She grabs my arm and pulls me forward. "Do you want to come in?"

Nodding again, I slip my legs inside the window, and, with it, my whole body. I lean against the window, panting, while she grimaces at me.

"Why are your feet dirty?"

"I had to go barefoot."

"For what - You were on my roof."

"I was on your roof."

"Why?"

I grin, holding the can of spray paint up. She gasps.

"You were graffitying my house."

"Not just me."

"What did you do?"

"Almost paint your window. I got your brother's window. Don't look now, but there's an angel on your front. She's beautiful. You'll enjoy her. And if you don't, this stuff washes out without too much effort." I smile friendly.

She sighs. "How old are all of you?"

"We're all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. I just turned nineteen."

She nods. "Why do you do this?"

"We make our mark. It angers those too hypnotized by the monotony of Beauville."

"And why do you say it's monotonous?"

"Have you ever noticed that almost all the houses on this block look the same, save for the one that happens to be next to yours?" I smirk.

"Yeah."

"What do your parents tell you about us?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity gets the best of me."

"Well, they say that you guys are tainted, you're evil, that God hates you, and we should never be like you. My mother specifically said that she would never forgive me if I ever talked to them." She shrugged. "Oops."

I smiled. "What did you think of my band?"

"You guys kick ass. You have a great voice."

I smiled lightly. "Thanks."

I look outside to see Quinn wandering the lawn, looking for me.

"Shit, I gotta go." I smile. "Hey, do your parents ever leave you home alone?"

She grins back. "Next Saturday. First time in five months. Evening. They're not getting back until eleven, for once."

"Come over with your brother. We'll play for you, we'll show you around the house, and you can get a feel for what we're like. If you want, you can join the Underground."

"I... Thanks."

"My pleasure." I turn to the window.

"Stop."

I edge my head over my shoulder to look at her, both feet already out the window.

"Yeah?"

"What's your name?"

"...Rain. Yours?"

"Um... Layla."

I smile once more. "Nice to meet you, Layla."

And I jump out.

"You did what?"

Helen's eyes are bulging. Aaron's mouth hangs open. Quinn, Matt, and Isaac have heard the whole thing, but are all showing nerves: Quinn massages his neck, Matt swings his arms back and forth and looks at his shoes, and Isaac bites his lip and lets his eyes wander. From behind me, I see Mukta slide under Diana's arm, hugging her like a security blanket, while Diana squeezes her reassuringly.

God, I must have fucked it up this time.

"Really, you guys? Must you act this shocked? So I entered a suburban household and conversed with one of the residents. Big deal."

"You also invited said suburban resident to our house," Quinn retorts, "While their parents are gone. Do you know how stupid, how risky this is?"

"Of course. But I have a feeling that they need a life better than that." As it comes out, I shoot daggers at Aaron. He turns, hanging his head.

"So you instead are trying to introduce them to a lifestyle horrendously riddled with vandalism, loud music, and utter rebellion, just because you loathe their life?"

I turn to Helen. "Oh, and you loathe our life?"

"I never said that."

"Whatever."

"I think it's great," Mukta pipes up.

I turn to her, mouth hanging open in shock. "Wuh?"

"I think it's great," She repeats, "The Rowans suck above all in this area of this ghetto of a town. Wrenching their kids from what is basically giving them meaning, purpose, and an actual reason to live. Suburbia is bullshit, and they need to know that. Besides, the girl-"

"Layla."

"-Layla was interested anyway. We're just making her dreams come true."

I smile. "Thank you, Mukta." I clear my throat. "How was Cloud Ten?"

Diana's eyes widen. "Oh, my God-"

Aaron cuts in. "Don't try to change the subject-"

"Cloud Ten was amazing! They were so good! And we got to meet them!"

"See, they signed my shirt!" Mukta unzips her hoodie, and points to black Sharpie writing on the top-left side of her shirt, close to her shoulder blade.

"And we showed them the footage of you guys playing Fade, and they want to meet you!"

My nerves jump, my heart stops, and my blood freezes all at the same time. "Cloud Ten wants to meet _us_?"

Matt gasps. "Cloud Ten wants to _meet_ us?"

Isaac's mouth hangs. "_Cloud Ten_ wants to meet us?"

Aaron hardly does much as budge. "Cloud Ten wants to meet us."

"They said that your composition styles are amazing, and that your voice is great, Rain." I blush. "Matt, Herb Wyatt himself said that you were better than him." He grins wildly, shaking a few dark strands out of his face. "Isaac, they said that your energy was infectious through the video camera." Isaac chuckles. "Aaron, they called you a near-legendary guitarist." He hardly nods. "Aaron, did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, I'm really tired," He mutters, "I'm gonna go get a breath of fresh air."

To him, it's so effortless to lie. But I know the inlaying problem.

I follow him outside.

"Aaron, I know what you're thinking."

"I am aware of that."

"Do you want to live like that? Knowing nothing of a better life, with a shallow blonde for a wife, with kids? Thinking that tatt' removal costs about two grand per square inch, which I'm not sure if you could ever afford, how could you look in the mirror? How could you do that, and see your angel on your back, or the birds on your chest? You'd be reminded everyday that once in your life, you were a rebel, that you stood for the very antidote of that life. How could you live with that?"

"I guess I'd have to."

I take a few steps to him, grasp his face in my hands, and force him to look me in the eye. "Aaron, I don't even know why you're so convinced that you're gonna become one of those souless monsters. You're better than that. Aaron Moynihan, you're far above that, and I don't even know how you could have thought that you would stoop that low."

"I'm not stooping low."

I smile.

"I'm stepping up."

I step away, recoiling. I stare at him. "Fuck off, Aaron."

And I disappear.

The next evening, I wake up to raucous laughter coming from downstairs.

Shrugging the covers off me, I walk into the kitchen.

I'm not expecting what my eyes lay on next.

Helen, Isaac, and Matt are all standing. Mukta obviously stayed over, because she and Di are both sitting on the counter, sipping coffee and stealing a kiss every so often. Quinn is passing coffee to four guys sitting at our table.

And that's when my jaw drops.

They all have dark hair, save for one who's blonde. One is in all black, with a red bandanna tied around his neck. Another wears a polo shirt with the buttoned front cut off and replaced with a rip going halfway down his chest, and several multicolored patches sewn on. The next goes shirtless save for a leather vest that hangs on him. The final wears a striped shirt with splatter paint riddling it horrendously.

"You're..." I whisper.

They all look up, and the guy in black and red smiles. "You're Rain? Nice to finally know you."

I squeal, covering my face. "You're... You're... You're... _Bentley Quince_."

He smiles. "Yes, I am."

"No, you're Bentley Quince! Lead singer of Cloud Ten!"

"And you're Rain Michaelson, lead singer of Welcome... To Hell." He gestures to the others at the table. "Alex, Liam, and Herb."

"Um..." I crack up. "Hi."

They all grin and wave. I wave back before Quinn presses a mug into my hands. I look down, and see the caramel-colored liquid of latte. I take a gulp, and smile.

"Thanks, dude."

"No prob."

Bentley - The real Bentley Quince! - clears his throat. "So, Aaron, your guitarist. Is he still asleep?"

I meet eyes with Matt.

"Uh..."

Matt interjects my stupid muttering. "Yeah. The guy's really tired. He was up at around noon-"

"Ooh, ouch," The_Real Alex Watershed!_Says.

"Yeah, I know. He told me to go back to sleep, but he's started waking up in the middle of the day a lot now. Past month or so."

My blood freezes.

He's been waking up for the day?

This can't be good.

I slip my mug on the counter, and turn to our guests. "I'm probably gonna regret waking him from his beauty sleep, but I'm gonna go get Aaron. It's already nine, anyways. Be right back."

"Okay," Helen hardly mutters.

I slip the door open and closed as quietly as possible, and tiptoe across the hardwood-floored room to where a large, dark form lies stirred and twisted under gray sheets.

I sit on the edge of the bed, and shake Aaron's shoulder.

"Aaron, wake up. It's already nine."

He doesn't respond.

"Cloud Ten is in the kitchen, conversing with everyone. Just come."

He groans, and twists his head so to look at me. As we make eye contact, his dark green orbs widen. "...Rain. What are you doing in here?"

"Waking you up. Dude, Cloud Ten is here. They want to talk to you. To all of us."

He sits up. "Really? I'm sorry, I'm really tired-"

"You were out."

He smiles nervously, eyes flitting. "No, I wasn't-"

"If you're gonna be wasting your time out during the day, come to art school with me. Ms. Englewood, one of the directors, would be more than happy to give you a tour." I smile shakily. "Please?"

"You can't prove I was out."

"I don't need to. I already know."

He looks down into his lap, the silence all he needs for an answer.

"Come with me. I'm not kidding. You might really enjoy it. If you do, we can find a way that you finish Senior year online, and then you can enroll."

We meet eyes again. "Are... Are you serious?"

I nod, and smile. "Very." I grip his hand, and start pulling him out of bed. He's still wearing his black jeans, but I see a glimpse of the elastic waistband of his boxers peeking out from the top. So he was wearing underwear. Relief courses through me.

I squeeze his hand, and as I'm about to let go, he pulls me into a tight hug. I struggle to find breath, but when I do, I hug him back.

"We want you guys to perform with us at a gig in two weeks."

I swear, my jaw just hit the ground. "What?"

"There's a larger gig we'll be playing in a couple. The Tent Amphitheatre. You familiar?"

"Yeah."

The Tent is a makeshift outdoor theater, built from a nearby open space, scrap metal salvaged from the nearest dump and melded, and enough space for the whole of my college to camp out. It's the Beauville Underground's best kept secret: A ten-thousand person, festival-style venue in a place where we can't get caught, is easily hidden, and doesn't disturb anyone - unless they happen to be on the highway at midnight.

"We want you as our opening act."

"But, why? Why us?" Matt questions.

"Because, goddammit, you guys are the best band we've met in a while."

I try to hide a blush, but it's no use. Liam - Liam Macbride, mind you - smiles at me, and says, "What, it's true. You four have genuine talent."

I turn to Aaron, and he's actually smiling at the prospect. Maybe he's had a change of heart. When our eyes meet, it's proven - I see real excitement in his eyes, electricity. I turn away, grinning and triumphant.

"We'll do it," He bursts out, without prior thinking.

Before any of us interject, Bentley grins.

"You guys are awesome."

After that, the only conversations following are music that isn't ours. Alex starts describing this synth-rock band that his girlfriend plays drums in.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend!" I exclaim.

"Yeah, I do." He sighs, and looks back up at me. "Ever heard of Bullets For Mockingbirds?"

I gasp. "Oh, my God, your girlfriend is in _Bullets For Mockingbirds?_"

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Why are you so shocked by this?"

I turn to Di, and we share a grin. "When Diana and I were first getting into the Underground in high school, the first band we were introduced to was Mockingbirds. I mean, then we fell in love with your music, but still! Wow! I didn't know!" I start jumping up and down again, and Aaron chuckles, holding my shoulders down.

"Calm, Rain, calm."

Too soon, the moon starts falling, gray peeks out at the horizon, and Bentley, Liam, Alex, and Herb are filing themselves out the door and into a beat up, forest-colored Subaru Outback, promising visits before the gig at the Tent and a chance to meet Alex's girlfriend. We finally agree on meeting them Sunday to start arranging the gig.

I walk back in, dump the remnants of my third or fourth cup of coffee into the sink, and trudge to the stairs with Aaron, whispering about tomorrow, about going to my school.

And as I'm creeping across the hall and to Helen's, Di's, and my room, I turn to Aaron and mouth, 'I'll wake you up.'


	3. Chapter 3: Did It Ever Get You Far?

**A/N: WAZZUP? I'm sorry, I saw an ad on YouTube for a movie starring Andy Sandberg and Adam Sandler. Haha. A-Sands!**

**So, I apologize for the two-day lateness. I really do. I didn't have computer access for three days, and I had already been procrastinating for a while, so I basically have spent the last two days cranking out as much writing as humanly possible. **

**I'm sorry, but you might have to start expecting late chappies. Why? Numero uno: I'm a pathetic person who doesn't want to move her ass (or rather, fingers) to write them. I do love my stories, don't get me wrong, it's just... I'M LAZY, OKAY? Also, I'm writing a few novels and editing one that I'll be posting on Fictionpress soon. I'll tell you when that's up.**

**Two: over the next three weeks, I'm taking Comp PE (a required class for Freshmen - or Year 10 students, depending on where you're from), so I can take two electives during the year (Jazz Band and Choir, I'm a nerd). Basically, twelve weeks summarized in twelve days, my friend's mom teaching the class, and a friend/doppleganger - not Moonray - bitching about how she signed up for an indoor classroom course, not bootcamp. Yes, I love you, and you're intelligent, but FOR GOD'S SAKE, stop being so DENSE! *Ahem* **

**Tria: I'm repainting my room! It was previously gold and spring green with this ugly-ass, hand-me-down, century-old bedroom set that I absolutely loathe. Now, I'm painting it purple and gray, with white and black accents, and I'm storing one, maybe two of the pieces (I'm keeping the bed and nightstand) and it's gonna look TOTALLY AWESOME! (Cue Gotta Get Back To Hogwarts)**

**Quattro: Moonray and I are starring, with a few other people, in a YouTube webseries entitled The Nerd Herd! Right now, our first episode is going through edits, but we'll tell you when it's up! But we're gonna be shooting pretty frequently, and each shooting seems to require five hours for fifteen minutes of video. Well, shee-it.**

**Quick rant: So, The Enchantress by Michael Scott came out. AND I'M PSYCHED. I've read that series since it first came out, and it's fuckin' amazin'! So now I fangirl. Eep! Also, I was at the mall with my mom, so I wandered off and went into Hot Topic. Today, I was wearing a hippie tunic and let my hair loose. And my hair is 80's big, dark, waist-length, and borderline curly. So the cashier was staring at me and my hippie hair and shirt. YOU MAD, BRO? Kiddin'.**

**Quick question: so, I've noticed a common cliche story where Gerard Way has a teenaged daughter (always a daughter) from art school that he only recently found out about, so the daughter has to go live with him. The cliche of it doesn't bother me as much as the fact that the vast majority of these stories are badly written. So, I'm considering penning a story with the cliche, but written so much better than the rest of them that it beats all the others out. Whaddyathink? If you bother reading this, mention your opinion in your review, or PM me for questions! Love ya all!**

**You know the drill - Read, Review, Recommend, and check out my other story, The Technicolor Rebellion, and Moonray's Don't Wanna Dance! Love you all! Enjoy a chappie filled with the misadventures of Rain! I apologize for the uber-long authors note!**

**~Sunshine**

I nudge his shoulder. "Aaron? Aaron, wake up. We leave in thirty."

He looks up at me, nods sleepily, and slides himself out of bed. I tiptoe out, hurrying as Matt starts stirring among his sheets.

As I sit in the kitchen, sipping coffee, he pads in. He's dressed up, for his tastes: dark red jeans _without any stains_, a black leather belt, a gray v-neck, and a black button-up vest. His dog tags shimmer and jingle under the garments, and a black fedora is perched tentatively on his head. I smile. He actually looks sophisticated.

Then, I see the worn, fraying black Dockers.

Shit.

I look down at what I'm wearing: dark-wash, slightly long cutoffs, deep blue Converse hi-tops, and a black off-the shoulder shirt hanging off a tank that matches my shoes. Standard art school clothes.

I down the rest of my coffee, grab the car keys off the counter, and smile. "Ready?"

"I guess."

We file out of the front door in silence, out to the curb, and I unlock the shitty, beat-up SUV that the seven of us share. We get in, and I turn around in my seat to see if my folios are in the back. They sit in solitude with my supplies. I smile, turn to Aaron, and ask, "Do you still want to do this?"

He shrugs. "I pulled out my nicest clothes. Why would I turn back now?"

I grin, starting the car.

As soon as we walk onto the premises, I steer Aaron to the Director's Offices, gaining stares from several students.

"Why are you dragging me?" Aaron screams.

"Because I feel like it!"

We reach the slightly looming, geometric, modernist building (really, just a more ominous looking continuation of the whole damn school), and I push the heavy, crimson doors open, shutting the dark haired guy attached to me up.

I quietly slide over to Colette, the French intern and secretary to the directors. She looks uncomfortable with her pinned up brown hair, reading glasses balanced on her nose, button up shirt, and pencil skirt.

"Hey, Colette."

She looks up, and her eyes widen. "Oh! 'Ello, mizz! 'Ow can I 'elp?"

"Um... I was wondering if my friend and I could talk to Ms. Englewood."

"Oh, Mizz Englewood? She iz in 'er office. Do you want me to send you up?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright." She grabs the desk-phone, and presses 3. "Um... Yes, Mizz Englewood? Yes, Two students are 'ere to see you. Yes. I'm sending dem up right now." She closes the line, and smiles up at me, pink lips stretching. "You may go to 'er office, mizz."

"Thanks, Colette."

"Yeah, um... Thanks, Colette."

She giggles, smiles at Aaron, and winks at him.

I stiffen, before going in shock over myself.

What the hell was that, shock, or jealousy? Or simple newfound hatred for French girls with huge boobs?

I knock on Ms. Englewood's door.

"Come in," is her response.

I open the door, and we file in. She suddenly straightens, standing up to greet us. "Rain! How are you?"

I smile. "Fine, and you, Ms. Englewood?"

She rolls her eyes. "Please. In my office, it's Ciara."

I take another look at her. Her pixie-length hair is dyed white, as well as her eyebrows, a shock from the normal strawberry-blonde. Her dark eyes sparkle in the light. She wears a knee-length dress, black skirted but white corseted, with a purple belt and matching pumps. Ms. Englewood - or, now, Ciara - is about thirty-five now, but she dresses, looks, and acts like a twenty year old.

She's great.

"And, I'm awesome!" She turns to Aaron. "Oh, and who are you?"

Aaron smiles. "Aaron Moynihan." He extends a hand to shake.

She takes it. "Ciara Englewood. And you're Rain's... Friend?"

"Friend and roomate. Along with, like... Five other people."

I smile at him. "Aaron's a phenomenal artist. Hang on." I remember my baby-blue bag slung over my shoulder, and pull out a slim, silver camera. When I turn it on and switch it to gallery, I flip through the pictures until I find a picture of his latest graffiti project.

"Wow, these are amazing! Brushed or sprayed? The paint, I mean."

"Oh! Sprayed."

"Where was this?"

"It's a concrete wall close to that skate park on... Um... Race Street, I think?"

"And did you get a permit for it?"

Aaron turns a wondrous shade of fuchsia, and his mouth folds into a thin line.

"Oh, oh, oh, I see." Ciara rolls her head back and laughs. "Kid, get a permit next time, but considering that was an ass-ugly concrete wall before, you're making the world really gorgeous with that kind of skill." She smiles. "So, you're in the Underground?"

"What? I-"

"Great! So am I! Still slipping by it all at thirty-four."

Aaron's and my jaws drop. I knew that Ciara was in the Underground, but still?

"True shit, I share a house with my sister and four other girls."

Suddenly, a layer has been peeled off the onion that is Ciara Englewood.

"By the way, Rain, I'm dismissing you from any classes you have today. Help me with the tour. You were ditching that realism in painting class anyways."

After a full day of trekking across an art campus, my heels hurt like hell. But it's totally worth it: I've never seen Aaron smile so hard in my life. Also, it was great to finally see Ciara suffer in her heels.

"I really hope you attend this school, Aaron," she comments as we walk towards the parking lot.

"So do I."

And Ciara walks away, ankles shaking from the strain of her pumps, the back of her short, white hair sticking up.

We slip back into the car. It's five forty-five.

"Perfect timing," Aaron comments.

"Yeah." As I start the car, I turn to him. "Whadidyathink?"

"It was..." He smiles. "I'm gonna try and finish high school."

I don't pull out of the space so I can wrap my arms around his neck. "Oh, my God, thank you so much!"

I shrink back from him, start the car, and start talking avidly.

"So, we're going to have to find, like, summer classes and night school and shit."

"I know."

"And, what about the band? Welcome... To Hell? What are we going to do about that? Like, I heard that Cloud Ten was starting to become known out of the Underground. What if... What if that happens to us?"

Aaron raises an eyebrow. "Rain, you are one hell of a dreamer.'

I smirk. "You love it."

He smiles grudgingly. "Yeah."

We pull out of the parking lot. I try to turn from the road to turn the radio on, but Aaron places a hand on mine, blocking it. "Let me."

As I pull my hand back to place it back on the steering wheel, my face burns with a blush. Nerves crawl under my skin where Aaron touched it. This is weird.

Aaron manages to tune the radio to the Underground's radio: 93.3, known better as The Contraband. The sharp, entertained laughter of Fatboy, one of the radio personalities, fills the car.

"Okay, everyone who bothers listening this early, it's 5:50. Do you know what that means? Fail Of The Day!"

The iconic whooping of another personality, The Ungrace, pierces Fatboy's laugh. She claps, and cuts in.

"Get this. A family here in Beauville has approached the city board, attempting to instill a quote-unquote localized law that would ban Underground behavior!"

Fatboy stops his chuckling in the background, and continues. "Of course, this is unconstitutional, so don't worry. I did some research-"

"You mean Head Honcho did."

"Well, yeah. But according to him, this is a direct violation of the Pursuit of Happiness, which was what this country was built on. Now, if happiness to you means partying, disobeying the biologic clock, vandalization, and the blasting of obnoxious music, go ahead! That's our lifestyle, too."

"Fuck to the Yeah!"

I chuckle lightly. The Ungrace loves to swear.

"Anyways, that's all for now. We're gonna just be lazy for the next forty minutes and just blast all the requests we've gotten that we couldn't play last night. See ya at six thirty!"

A familiar song thumps in. I sigh.

We pull into the house. I see one of the neighbors - Mrs. Jones' daughter walking the dog - stares with wide eyes. A shame. She's seventeen, and just came back from her first year of finishing school up in... I think Vermont. Who cares? She's staying in the Suburban jail anyways.

It's six fifteen. We've got almost an hour until everyone else gets up.

We enter the house, and stand in the entryway. The wafting scent of yesterday's coffee drifts around us.

"What did you think?"

"I... Loved it. Thank you so much for taking me. Really. It was awesome. I..." He has to bend over to circle his arms around my waist, and his chin lands on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around his neck, reciprocating the hug.

I turn to look at him. The last of late spring sunlight is filtering through the window across the room and into his eyes.

They're so green. They're like a rainforest.

He blinks a few times slowly, and his face is inching closer to me. His lips land on my cheek, part of them accidentally hitting the corner of my own mouth. I can already sense him trying to pull away, but I turn my head instead.

I can't believe I'm doing this-

My lips brush against his softly, sweetly, tenderly.

They're so soft.

At first, he's frozen. My eyes are barely open, but through my dark eyelashes, I can see his viridian eyes widen in shock. But after a couple seconds, they close, and he gives into a kiss.

We stand there for what seems like forever, wrapped in each other, gently pressing our lips against each others, before Aaron makes a startled sound, gasps, and suddenly backs away, covering his mouth with his palm.

"I'm so sorry, Rain-"

"Why?" I pout. My lips are still a little puckered.

"Rain, I'm so sorry, but-"

"But what?" I ask gently.

"I can't do this."

"Whaddyamean?"

"Rain. Don't get me wrong. You're sweet, beautiful, smart, talented... You're made of gold. But I don't think this would work."

My jaw hangs. "What?"

"Rain. We're so different. And on top of it, you're... Uh... Um... In my band... In our band... And... What if that... Breaks the band apart-"

I silence him with another kiss, pulling him down to my height by his neck.

"You're trying to convince yourself that this is a bad idea," I mutter, breaking away slowly.

"Not just that."

I move my head back. "What?"

"I... I thought you hated me," He says, "After the whole transferring from the Underground incident."

"I couldn't hate you for long. In fact, right now, I'm so proud of you. For going to visit the college, for being willing to finish senior year, for wanting to attend art school, For everything."

He kisses me again, holding my face with his calloused hands, with more passion. I find myself smiling in the midst of the moment.

"Thank you," he says as he finally pulls away from me.

And as he walks upstairs to change, he turns to look at me.

And he smiles.

I'm drinking coffee yet again at the kitchen table when Helen walks in.

"It's Saturday," she says.

I gasp, a million thoughts racing through my mind.

It's Saturday. Shit. I totally forgot.

"Do you think I should go clean the garage?"

"No."

"Polish Chaos?"

"Won't that make the buttons fall off?"

Double shit. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Wait until eleven, be as friendly as possible, try not to swear so much, and get everyone to be polite." I give her a smoldering glare. "Hey, you have my word. I'll try to be benevolent." She runs a hand through her magenta spikes, dark eyes blinking heavily. "Hey, got more coffee?"

"Check the pot, I might have already drunk it all."

Helen looks at the counter - I'm assuming the coffee pot as well - then grabs a mug, pours the remains of the near-ebony liquid into her mug, and puts the coffee pot back. She cleans it, puts a new filter and ground coffee in, fills the water tank, and starts a new pot. Satisfied, she picks her mug back up, and takes the seat across from me at the table, and starts drinking. I shake my head in disgust. For the record, I enjoy my coffee. With sugar and milk. Black coffee is just plain disgusting.

"So, the Rowan's kids are coming."

"Yeah."

"And you guys are opening for Cloud Ten in two weeks."

"Mm-hm."

"And you were sucking face with Aaron."

I look up at her. "What? We weren't-"

"I was getting some water from the kitchen when you guys came back in. I saw the whole thing."

I feel a blush creeping up my face. I try to answer with one of my clever lines, but my voice seems to be stuck in my throat.

"I think you two are really cute together, for the record. I mean, tall-dark-and-handsome with tattoos, with petite-sized art girl with an irrational fear for needles and crazy-colored hair tips?"

"Crazy colored, coming from Madame Barney-hair."

She delivers a smoldering glare. "Barney the motherfucking Purple Dinosaur is obviously purple, bitch. My hair is magenta." She gasps. "You're trying to divert attention from the fact that you and Aaron are kind of together-"

"Shut up, Horny."

She gasps again. "That was low."

"It's true."

"One guy! One guy! And he was from out of town! And-"

"Out of town meaning a guy from Rochester. Not New York, that other Goddamn neighborhood fifteen minutes away-"

Helen gets up. Her chair clatters to the floor as she stomps out of the room.

Quinn walks in on queue, staring at Helen as she stalks by. He whistles.

"What's wrong with her?"

"I brought up Edgar."

"...Oh."

Matt walks in, followed by Isaac and Di.

"'S'there food?" Isaac mutters.

"Go fish, dumbass."

Di grabs the keys from the counter. "I'm picking Mukta up. She wants to meet the Rowan's kids. Back in fifteen."

And she's out the door.

Aaron walks in. He's back in his usual clothes: That is, no shirt and jeans. He looks at me, and smiles nervously. I grin back.

"What's for breakfast?" He asks Isaac, turning to face the fridge.

"Um... Toast? Peanut butter? Fend for yourself, my friend."

Aaron slides next to the Mohawk-haired guy, and catches another glance my way. I feel another blush coming on.

"Are we practicing today?" Matt pipes up.

"Dude, it's Saturday. As in, Rowan's-kids-are-coming-over Saturday."

He pales. "Oh, shit, really? I gotta... Clean my drums, or something!"

"Helen's against it, Matt, don't worry." I lean back, taking another sip of homemade latte.

Quinn clears his throat. "Do you want me to, like, set up lighting or something, if you want to film it-"

"You want to all seem professional, don't you?"

"Well, we want to make a good impression."

As Quinn says that, my eyes fly down to his shirt. It's black, and in white block letters, reads, 'You Mad Bro?'

So much for good impressions.

I finish my coffee, and set the mug in the sink. My arm brushes Aaron's back, and he turns, instinctively. We stare at each other for a few seconds, before looking away, both of us blushing.

I check the clock when Diana walks in with Mukta. That was _not_ fifteen minutes. That was less than ten.

Mukta claps her hands, skips into the kitchen, and hugs me. "Rain, darling, are you ready for your private performance?"

"It's the band's performance. Gettoffme."

She shies away from me, and goes back to Di, kissing her cheek. I roll my eyes.

"Hey, where's Helen?"

"I kind of pissed her off." I shrug. Isaac passes me half a bagel with peanut butter. I start stuffing it in my mouth desperately.

"Elegant, Rain."

"Whoe'er sai' I wuh ewegan'?" I mouth through the bagel.

"What?"

I swallow. "Whoever said I was elegant?"

Aaron clears his throat. I turn to see him putting the near-empty jar of peanut butter away. He turns to us. "I'm gonna clean up the garage, set up a little bit. Rain, do you wanna come with me?"

"Um... Yeah, sure."

I follow him out.

Immediately, he looks at me with the most frantic expression I've ever seen on him. "Rain, how are we gonna do this?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Do what?" As an excuse to turn away, I start in the back of the garage, putting overturned spray paint cans, X-acto knives, and propane torches back in their right places.

"Act like we have a completely platonic relationship in a house of seven. Rain... We're gonna have to tell them."

I scoff. "When? Aaron, that's why the _day_exists. So we can get away with a not-really-platonic relationship. Can you get that one side? The one with all the paint? I'm gonna sweep up a little." I grab a broom, and start in the corner.

"Alright."

Our working in silence works for about half a minute.

"What are Matt and Isaac gonna say?"

I stare up at Aaron incredulously. "I'm worried about Helen the most. I can already imagine it." I put on a nasal falsetto. "Rain, what the fuck? You're dating the greasy, half-ass roomate?"

A deep chuckle escapes from Aaron's mouth. "That's pretty damn accurate."

As I make my way to the middle of the room, he picks up two paint cans to move them somewhere else. I'm staring at the accumulating pile of dirt that sits at the edge of the broom.

Damn, we need to clean this more often-

A bare foot steps right in it.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, Rain-"

"No, no, it's not an issue." I sweep it back up, before looking up to reassure him again.

Oh, there's his face.

His eyelashes flutter nervously, and he bites the inside of his lip a little. There's about half a foot between us. I step in, closing the gap.

There's two inches... One inch... I could probably count the distance in millimeters now.

His lips brush against mine, before he full-on brings our lips together. I smile a little, letting one hand leave the broom handle to hook around his neck. I close my eyes as his hand reaches to the base of my skull. And we stand there, in the middle of the garage, our mouths mingling in a flurry of passion, lips, and tongues.

And then-

"What the _fuck_?"

"Okay, you guys," Isaac says, "They're gonna be here in, like, five minutes, so get ready."

I start walking back into the house, nodding.

"Rain?"

"Yeah, dude." I don't even bother to turn.

"Walking in on you and Aaron was graphic enough. Please... Not while we're performing?"

"Sure, man, whatever."

I stalk back in the house, and find myself in the living room, before plopping myself on the couch.

So far, I've been called a whore, a manipulator, and a bitch. I've been told that I'm dirty and I'm going to try and sleep with every guy in the house. Maybe the girls, too. All in less than four hours.

I could puke right now. I feel so sick.

The doorbell rings, saving me from my misery. I rush to my feet, jog across the house, and open the door.

"Rain!" One of the forms squeals, and wraps me in a hug. I'm a little shocked, but I manage to hug the girl back.

"Layla, hey, how are ya?"

"Awesome! The parents are out!" She pulls away from me, and steps away to reveal a boy with similar dark hair. He's a little younger, and has a sweet, closed-mouth smile plastered on his face. "I'm so rude." She puts a hand behind the boy's back, and pushes him forward, across the threshold. "This is Adam."

"Hi."

"Hi, Adam."

We stand in the entryway for a few silent seconds, before I push them farther into the house and close the door.

"C'mon, meet _el familia_."


	4. Chapter 4: Truth Be Told

**A/N: Ho. Lee. Shit. It's back.**

**I apologize for those readers of mine who forgot about this story because it's been effing June since I updated this! I hit a wall with this story, and I was at this point where I was like, "I know what's going to happen next, but how do I get past NOW?" But I got through now, and next will be coming a lot sooner than now came. And I'm sorry if this seems like a filler chapter, but trust me, it's necessary. Very necessary...**

**In other news, I'm sorry the majority of my stories have been delayed. I had a bout of Writerus-Blockus-itis, and my physician refused to give me the necessary antibiotic of Inspiration (haha, that was clever, right?). But those will be done, I'll try to get the next chapters finished and published by the end of this week. Cool, right? Cool! Just hang tight, keep your panties out of a knot, and stay awesome, and I'll be writing. Just. For. You!**

**Be gorgeous, and keep on doing your thing!**

**~Sunshine**

"I never tried to be your teacher, I'm not your prophet and I'm not your preacher!" I belt into the microphone. It's the last song of the night, and my fingers are starting to slip up on Chaos's strings. I turn to watch Aaron spin around behind me, guitar almost swinging off him as he takes his solo.

He's kind of mesmerizing, the way his lengthening dark hair swishes around his head, the lights catch shadows on his chest, glimmers of green shine from his eyes every so often, and the angel, looking oh so serene as he plays oh so wildly.

I snap back to reality when I feel a shoulder digging into my side, followed by the bubblegum of Isaac's hair coming in contact with my vision. He gives me this smoldering look. _Stop staring._

What? I can't help that I stare at the guy that I'm kinda-sorta-not-really-maybe-dunno-okay-yeah-definitely-why-not dating.

He finally finishes the solo with lifting the headstock of his guitar above him, the body parallel to his chest, and lets the final notes ring out, forcing me to have to turn back to the microphone.

"Who said death was leaving? Who said sight was seeing? Who said I'm a maniac? That lie is what I'm bleeding!" Inhale, Rain. "I never tried to break it down, but let's hear life fall fast and loud! I never tried to be your teacher, I'm not your prophet and I'm not your preacher!"

With a finite, energized, baritone note from Chaos, it's all over.

Just silence. Maybe the Butterfield's eighty-five year old resident grandfather yelling to turn the music down, probably at us, most likely at no one.

Then, Adam and Layla start clapping.

"You guys are awesome!" Layla exclaims, her tawny eyes sparkling, "That was..." I hear her suck in a breath of exhilaration, "Fucking amazing!"

My eyes widen. "Is that the first time you've sworn?"

She blushes. "Out loud. I... Well, I swear a lot on my Tumblr account-"

I laugh, stepping away from the mic and sliding Chaos's body to the side to she hangs off my back. "You have a _Tumblr_ account?"

She blushes. "Um - Well - Yeah - I guess - Wait, why are you asking-"

"No, that's awesome!" I giggle, "It's just... Layla Rowan, with a Tumblr account? I thought you were a good kid!"

At this point, Adam is staring at her pretty oddly, raising a hazelnut eyebrow. "What's Tumblr?"

"Um... Nothing, it's-"

"A website where people post pictures of all their shit. Many go on to blog about bandoms."

Another eyebrow raise. "Bandoms?"

I roll my eyes. "Another time."

I hear the familiar pop of the amps being turned off. I look back to see Matt smiling nervously as he turns switches on the gear. I walk out of the garage to talk a little more politely to Layla and Adam.

"So, what did you like and not like?"

Adam tilts his head. "I dunno, it was... Different." He clears his throat. "But I've only ever really been exposed to, like, Snow Patrol and Oasis and stuff."

I nod. "Yeah, that's expected of your background. I have nothing against either, but they both start to sound old after a while, y'know?"

"Um, yeah, I guess."

I chuckle. "Don't worry, Adam, you'll get used to this. Open your window a little bit every night. We practice unless we have other plans, so no matter what, you'll always hear us."

"Alright. I'll... I'll try that."

I turn to the older. "Layla?"

She suppresses a smile, before laughing sporadically. "I love it."

"So, I know we're having a touching little moment here," Helen pronounces, "but when are your parents gonna be back? 'Cause it's eleven-forty-five right now."

"Oh, no, really? Then we have to get going-"

"Layla."

She stops from turning around. "Yeah, Rain?"

"How deep do your parents sleep?" I smirk.

"Only the sun can wake them."

"How about this: this coming Friday night, after they go to sleep, sneak out, and I'll take you two to a concert. That okay?"

"Yes. Yes, please!" Layla exclaims.

"Then get going. I'll see ya Friday."

"Um..." She giggles. "Thanks, Rain."

I've never seen so much hope in someone's eyes before.

* * *

Again, I find myself up at nine in the morning, making out with Aaron over coffee.

He breaks the heated kiss. "You gonna go to class today?"

"No." I slink away from him to continue drinking my coffee. "But I got a better idea."

"What?"

"Let's go into the city. Spend the whole day there. Have fun. Get food. Maybe shop for new gear. My mic stand's kind of getting really shitty, anyways. It takes all my weight to adjust it. And let's get lunch! I haven't had sushi in forever."

"I thought you didn't like raw fish."

"Fuck off, I don't like meat. But that's why vegetarian sushi exists." I smile. "Whaddya think?"

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

I begin to unbuckle myself from the seat. "C'mon, Aaron, you drove here anyways. Move your ass out the door. Right. Now."

"No, but... I just feel awkward, here in the day."

"Dude, it's _Catalina Street Mall._ It's a pedestrianized, slightly hippie-ish Mecca for weirdos like us. For God's sake, they put three ornately painted pianos on each block! There are trees and coffeeshops everywhere! There's a huge-ass bookstore that's bigger than three of the houses on Gordon Avenue combined. It's fucking amazing, you just gotta lose yourself."

He bites his lip. "A... A... Alright."

He pulls out of the car with me.

I circle the car to meet him, lacing our fingers between each other. He leans over to touch his lips to the top of my head, and I smile. In the distance, I see an older, willowy woman, early sixties, with flowing silver hair and an equally cascading dress smile at us.

Huh.

We continue walking. I see a couple Starbucks, a bakery, a music store, and the bookshop. Fading letters on age-old brick stand out: The Syllable Exchange. "You wanna go in?"

"Um... Sure, why not?"

I grip his hand tighter, and walk to the building at a quicker pace, dragging him with me. "You're gonna love it. It's got, like, these really plush carpets almost everywhere, and they're, like, a forest color, and there's really dark wood everywhere, and there are these huge Victorian staircases, and massive bookshelves, and they carry, like, basically, every book you can imagine-"

"Alright, Rain, I get it, it's an awesome bookshop-"

"And they have a _coffee bar_ that serves the _best chai _that you've ever _tasted!"_ We make it to the big, pine-colored double doors, and I pull one open for him. "New arrivals enter first."

He rolls his kaleidoscopic green eyes, but enters anyway,

"Whoa."

I let the door slide shut behind me as I snake my arms around his waist and tuck myself under his arm, squeezing him into a hug. "Isn't it great?"

"Y-Y-Yeah. Hell, yeah, it is!" His whole face is lit by pure, juvenile delight. I smirk.

"Yayza." I drift away when I spot a sign. "Debut from local writer, buy now!" I skate to the stand, where neat skyscrapers of books are stacked, extra copies elegantly set vertically on top of every column on wire stands. I lift one stand, free a heavy, paper block from one of the towers, and inspect it. The cover features a suburban couple, dressed disturbingly similar to the average Beauville couple, standing in the same way, but their eyes have been X-ed out with black pen. Underneath, in similar, ballpoint scrawl, lays the title. _Suburbia: Completely True Tales of an American Hell, Narrated in a Slightly Fictional Way._ Underneath is the name: Ralph Tucker.

"Hey, Aaron, come look at this. It looks interesting."

He edges closer, leans over me, rests his chin on my shoulder, and _oohs._ "Who's it by? What's it about?"

I flip the book over, and start reading to him. "Suburbia: It's a definition of what America became in the middle of the Twentieth Century. Cookie cutter houses, trim, lush, green lawns and rose bushes, white picket fences, shiny cars, and, above all, the straight, clean, happy couple. But why are we so sure to believe that this is a perfect life? And why are we so bent on achieving this status? In his debut novel, Raphael 'Ralph' Tucker explains every idiosyncrasy in this life, and tells tales of his childhood in the hell of perfection."

I clear my throat, and look at the picture of the author. He's in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, with sandy, blonde hair, chocolate eyes, and a smile. His geometric face is framed by rimless glasses that glare a little into the photograph.

"Ralph Tucker was born in Beauville, Arizona, and lived there for eighteen years, until he attended Mississippi State University, getting his degree in Journalism and Creative Writing. He wrote columns for the Chicago Tribune for three years afterwards, until he quit, moved back to Texas, and started writing _Suburbia_ after his 'great epiphany.' He lives there today with his partner, Terry, their dog, Sasha, and their cluttered apartment." I smirk. "Seems like an ex-Underground member to me."

"No shit. Let's buy it."

I laugh. "I'll get the book if you get me a chai latte. Iced."  
"Whatever, Rain." He leans over, and presses his lips to my cheek. I twist my head, meeting them with my own. "Lemme go pay. Save a table."

"Alright." He pulls away from me, and saunters off to the coffee bar.

I pad to the cashier, and set the book on the counter.

"That it?" The attendee asks. She has light brown hair, pulled into a bun formed by a pencil. Her caramel eyes are rimmed with a little eyeliner, her lips painted a radioactive pink. Freckles dot her nose and cheeks. She smiles, but it fades quickly as she meets my eyes, and her jaw drops a little.

"What?"

She clears her throat, and looks away. "I'm... I'm so sorry, I-I-I-I've just never seen someone with two different irises."

"You mean heterochromia."

"Um, yeah." She finishes scanning the book, and taps a few keys. "Ten-ninety-five."

I hand her a ten and a one, and she opens the register, Slipping the bills in, fingering a nickel, and pressing it into my hand. "Enjoy the book. By the way, the author's gonna be hosting a book talk next Friday, if you wanna come. It's at eleven."

"In the morning?"

She smiles. "Duh. We're not open after nine-thirty."

"Oh."

She leans a little over the counter. "You're from the Underground, aren't you?"

"Why d'ya ask?"

She bites her lip a little. "I've... Considered getting in. I'm going to a gig this Friday, at the Dealership Theater. One of my coworkers is taking me."

"You're going to the Dealership on Friday? I'm going with all my roomates! Maybe I can see you there."

"Yeah, maybe." She holds out a hand to shake. "Hazel Roux."

"Rain Michaelson." I smile, taking the book. "See you on Friday, Hazel."

"Yeah, see ya, Rain."

I glide to the coffee bar, where Aaron is now laughing with the barista. They seem to be talking about... What? A Mr. Davenport? Aaron spots me, and his eyes light up. "Rain! Come meet Ben."

I slip next to Aaron, and glance at the barista. He has skin the color of dry leaves, with coarse, black hair swirling around his forehead, temples, and neck. His chocolate eyes glint with mischievous, sly light. He eases a hand past the counter to shake. "Ben Vasquez."

I shake. "Rain Michaelson. How do you know Aaron?"

He laughs, a hearty sound that makes my mind drift to a New Orleans street band. It makes me feel at home, for some reason. "Aaron was my potential juvie buddy. We got into all kinds of shit together. We were those kids, y'know?"

I laugh a little, too. "I understand."

Aaron pipes up. "Ben, how's the restaurant going?"

He shrugs, chuckling a little. "How else? I have no lease, no other chefs, no money, just a few recipes. The way I'm going, I'm gonna work here til the grave."

"You're trying to start a restaurant?" I ask.

"Yeah. It's my dream." Ben looks out the window behind me, a little remorsefully.

"Oh... I'm sorry I asked."

"It's alright."

We swim in silence; Aaron clears his throat, turning to me. "Hey, Rain, didn't you say you needed a new mic stand?"

Ben's eyes light up, his eyebrows rising. "Aaron, how's the band?"

"It's great! We're gigging, we're popular-"

"We got a gig in a week and a half at the Tent with Cloud Ten."

His jaw drops. "...Whoa, damn."

The next minute is nervous giggling and descriptions of meeting them, until a lovely middle-aged couple behind us starts clearing their throats.

"Hey, I'll see you Friday at the Dealership, alright?" Ben announces, waving.

We wave back. "Yeah. See you, Ben."

"You too."

Sunlight hits me as Aaron turns, smirking. "So, mic stand?"


End file.
